


The Future

by glassdemons



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdemons/pseuds/glassdemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lot of things that a humble jester can't be expected to know will happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolstarboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolstarboy/gifts).



In the past, the Listener was an elf. He was short, and stocky, and kind. He was killed, he was replaced, and life in the Brotherhood went on.

In the present, there was no Listener. There was the Keeper, the Night Mother, and empty promises of something left in Skyrim. There was nothing left, nothing that could be called the Brotherhood.

In the future, the Listener was en elf. They were tall, and lean, and kind. They would be strong, and bring new life to the Brotherhood, and after them, the Brotherhood would live on.

Cicero did not know the future. He was a jester, after all, and not a seer. He did not know why he tried to fix things, things that did not exist in the present. He did not know what drove him ever onward, why he had such hope of finding the Listener all by himself. He did not know why he felt like, somehow, in the end, things would be alright.

He would not know why he would give up and go south again, to Falkreath, to where every day was a cruel reminder that he was the only one left of the past. He would not know that he would find the Listener there, or that they would save his life in many ways, literally and metaphorically. He would not know that there would ever be something worth defending again. He would not know he would become friends with the Redguard who would insult him, the vampire that would ignore him.

He would not know he was looking at the chosen one when an elf, tall and lean with a kind smile, sits beside him for a friendly conversation.

He would not know about the Purification through flames, brought about by outside forces instead of the Black Hand. He would not know who would live, and who would die.

The future was still a long way off, and for now, it was cold in Dawnguard. The rocks were iced, the sea was iced, the ground was covered in snow. Cicero managed to get his horse inside the Sanctuary every night, just to keep it alive in the harsh elements. He had food, not a lot but enough for the present, and some money left after having his wagon wheel fixed to buy more if stealing more didn’t work out.

There was no Listener in the present, and often instead of looking to the future, Cicero looked back at the past, reading of the treachery of Cheydinhal, the founding of new Sanctuaries, the fall of his own. It was a comfort, in a way, to look back at how things rightfully _should_ be, and far, far better than the present.

When the snow finally began to melt and the ice began to thaw, he was almost ready to look to the future again. The present was hard, yes, but there was nothing he could do about that but start the future.

And as the sun set, and the horse was drawing the carriage out from behind the rocks, while the auras flickered overhead, the future was ready for him.

Across Skyrim, the future Listener was about to knowingly send a soul to Sithis for the first time. It wouldn’t be long before they knew that they had a special connection to the Dread Father.

No, it wouldn’t be long at all.


End file.
